


I Loved You So Long

by LittleRedCosette



Category: Alexander (2004)
Genre: Arguments, Betrayal, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fighting, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 18:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8544787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRedCosette/pseuds/LittleRedCosette
Summary: Once upon a time two boys were in love. Now men, war and travel have changed that love. Death as claimed it, another victim among the corpses of battle. But that does not mean they have forgotten entirely...





	

_Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. ~ Twelfth Night, Act I Scene 3_

 

He paced from wall to wall with a purposeful anger, eyes on the steps he took and ears deaf to all but the hum that rang in the aftermath of the shouting. And he didn’t stop, though his limbs grew numb with exhaustion and his eyes glassed over with dusty tears. Fists clenched and frown deeply set in a face prone to thoughtful smiling, he was unrecognisable in his rage.

He had been alone for hours, and it was only as the heat of the sun was replaced by the chill of the iridescent glow that preceded moonshine that he was finally interrupted.

The intruder – a brave soul by all rights, no matter his identity – walked in unannounced, striding with a similar gait. And when he stopped his eyes continued to follow the pacing man curiously, features softening until he looked less angry; not amused, perhaps…entertained.

Hephaestion paused once he realised his solitude had been encroached upon, staring at the king with an accepting expectance.

“Come to slap my wrist?” he asked in a sickly sweet tone.

Alexander did not find his remark amusing, but made no comment to silence him. To silence an angry Hephaestion was to taunt the hungry lion.

“Perhaps we should take this outside,” the general offered, gesturing towards the entrance Alexander had entered through. “So you can mock me some more in front of your men. The Gods know, you seem to enjoy it, Alexander.” He spat the king’s name like poison on his tongue, and his eyes filled with a similar venom, unbearable for any man to witness.

King Alexander was not any man.

“I do not have to defend what I said, or what I did.” He spoke brusquely, unmercifully cold and without remorse, more king than friend, and more businessman than king, as if this were merely an unpleasant task to see through and be done with. “Why did you fight with Krateros?”

Hephaestion scoffed wordlessly, rolling his eyes in an undignified manner, and he returned to stomping around his quarters, movement jerky and gaze unfaltering as he eyed every object as if it had done him some great wrong.

They remained in silence as the king waited for a reply, but the stubborn general would allow nothing but fast, sharp breaths to pass his lips.

“I see,” Alexander murmured. “Would you mind?” he asked, raising his eyebrows, and Hephaestion stopped in his tracks, confused. “Thank you, much better. You’re pacing was starting to make me dizzy.”

Scowling, Hephaestion threw himself into the chair, not offering his king a seat, but Alexander took one anyway, leaning an elbow on the neatly organised desk and cradling his chin with his palm. If he was going to wait for his most favoured general’s pig-headedness to wear thin, he might as well be comfortable.

Expression calmly hopeful, it was as if Alexander expected something of Hephaestion, who looked in no mood to comply. He remained slumped in his chair, posture relaxed, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously at the unnervingly tranquil face before him.

He could feel his anger building up inside his stomach, bubbling away and eating at his insides. The humiliated stain in his cheeks and neck was yet to dissipate, leaving his skin a blotchy red. And here in front of him sat the king; King Alexander. The man whose ideals he had defended with his own sword…and at what cost? The cost of his pride? He swallowed back the nausea that bubbled through him at the thought.

“I won’t give you what you want.”

“Oh yes?” Alexander asked lightly. “And what is it that I want?”

Hephaestion shrugged, fully aware of the distinctly teenage attitude in his appearance, but too proud to either admit to it or change it.

“An apology. Or perhaps a truce between myself and Krateros. It won’t happen, Alexander. You are a powerful man but you won’t bridge this gap.”

“You blatantly tell me you have no plans to resolve this dilemma, and you expect me to sit back and let _this_ ,” he waved his arm nonchalantly, indicating the scene that had occurred earlier in the afternoon, “Happen again?”

Incredulity overwhelmed Alexander as, for the second time, Hephaestion, a man of many words when he wished to be, simply shrugged.

Hephaestion smirked despite himself, and a smile also twitched at Alexander’s lips. And soon the smile grew, spreading across both faces, identical both in appearance and the thoughts behind them, until a laugh, quiet at first but growing all the while, escaped their lips. It was a sad laugh, nostalgic and sentimental, and for a brief moment they were boys again.

But only for a moment.

“Hephaestion…” Alexander sighed.

“I know, I know,” Hephaestion waved his hand impatiently, his expression mirroring the king’s concern.

“At least tell me the topic of your quarrel.”

Reluctantly, silvery grey eyes met a combination of brown and blue, holding them curiously.

“It was nothing.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Full of disbelief, his concern showed in the puckering of his brow, but his companion ignored it, shrugging casually.

“It won’t happen again,” he murmured, eyes on the knees of the king sat opposite him.

“Oh, well that I highly doubt,” Alexander said through barely moving lips, gaze resting on Hephaestion’s troubled face. “But I’d appreciate it very much if you tried.”

Standing up, he was about to walk away when he heard his fellow’s brief parting words of “ _Don’t I always?”_ and would have ignored them, but something of a sentimental smile pained his expression, and he turned back.

“I know you do,” the king whispered, all the sincerity of a lifetime of friendship conveyed in four mere words, and a tone of old love that both men had, in the fire of campaign, all but forgotten. Only this could pull Hephaestion’s dark grey eyes up to Alexander’s face, coaxing the look of almost delight to banish the mean frown from his face. “You would not be my – _Alexander’s_ – friend if you did not.”

At this the tentative smile of his friend became a laugh, no more than an exhalation of painful entertainment, and an acknowledgement of the king’s rightness.

“But oh! What would they call you?” Alexander mused, and Hephaestion’s amusement faltered as he failed to understand the blond man’s train of thought, peering curiously up at him. Alexander, on the other hand, allowed a brief smirk to twist his smiling lips. “Something so very dearer,” he continued. “Not friend, but beloved, perhaps?”

The lightness of the grey darkened, however this time it was not anger that filled Hephaestion’s eyes, but something less easily distinguished: a remorseful distance that changed his entire expression, though not one muscle in his face had altered. And a nostalgia that he was not prone to surrounded him like a physical presence, swelling pregnant in the room around them and choking their throats, their breaths caught in the pits of their chests.

“It has been many years since I have been anything close to such a thing.” It was a bitter sentence, though spoken with a meekness that suggested acceptance. He knew the world he lived in very well, and had come to terms with it long ago, regretting not a thing.

The smile on Alexander’s face warmed. Another laugh escaped his lips, buried deep in his abdomen and tickling its way up his emotion-constricted throat, dispelling the overwhelming past that suffocated them.

“You have always been as dear to me.” It was a promise as honest as the breath on his lips, and the gladness in his eyes spoke much louder than the soft tone of his voice.

“I believe you.”

The friendliness had intensified, so very platonic it was unbearable. Alexander looked ready to move, but he hesitated, and Hephaestion stood, eye contact unyielding all the while. It was an understanding they had found as young men – boys, really – to meet gazes and to _know_.

“I miss you, sometimes,” Alexander confessed with an eyebrow quirked.

“You see me every day,” Hephaestion retorted coolly and mirroring his expression, extracting a chuckle from the king, who shook his head and bit his lip in indignation.

“Yes, but I miss _you_ ,” the blond man insisted.

“You do not.”

“I-”

“You do not, Alexander!” Hephaestion repeated, louder than the first time and with less cynicism, instead persistence. “You miss the freedom you had in order to have me.” His explanation was plain, and it showed in the gentle smile tugging at his lips; light-hearted, blithe.

“Is that not the same thing?” Alexander enquired with a worried brow.

“Not at all,” the general continued bluntly. “I was not your source of happiness, my good king. Only witness to it.”

“That is not true!” Alexander cried, taking a step forwards.

“That is true. And it does not offend me,” Hephaestion persevered. “I was – and still am to this day – proud to have played such a part in that chapter of your life.”

Looking upon his friend, Alexander saw the festering shadow of passion Hephaestion so rarely expressed. It gleamed brightest as a boy, slowly harboured over time and nurtured with the tenderness of a man prone to thought rather than action, diplomat before warrior, the very opposite of what he had once considered himself to be. He remained hidden from the world, yet Alexander saw it all, and he felt a rush of pride for the man stood before him.

“I never stopped loving you.” This confession even quieter than before, deeper and more agonising to admit, and received not with equal depth and understanding, but with a soft laugh, born from the base of the throat and a rattle in the chest.

“I think my arrogance extends far enough for me to know that already, my dear Alexander.”

The king seemingly couldn’t decide whether this amused or upset him, taking a step closer to better scrutinise his friend’s face, tilting his head to the side like an inquisitive animal, innocent as a puppy and alert as a hound.

Hephaestion, whose eyes had strayed briefly to his twisting fingers, knotted together between moist palms, upturned his face to look directly at the king, and his voice lowered. He would have sounded scared, but any fear he might have known had been lost, long ago.

“He disputed your beliefs about upholding certain Persian customs.”

This sentence was quite possibly the only one that could stop Alexander in his tracks, because he paused, a look of confusion marring his features.

“What?”

“Krateros.”

The king’s expression steeled, eyes glinting angrily.

“He said this to the men?” His fists had clenched involuntarily, but Hephaestion shook his head regrettably, waving his hand lightly and sighing at the sudden mood change of the man.

“No; only to me. The men merely witnessed my response.”

This relaxed Alexander, who rolled his eyes, walking towards his general to place a warm hand on his companion’s shoulder. “Hephaestion,” he said, speaking with an old exhaustion that implied he was tired of such a topic, considering it beneath his majestic status. “Let me disagree with Krateros on my own terms,” he ordered kindly, as if relieving his friend of a great burden with his words. “…and besides, I cannot begrudge him this disparity. He follows my orders without questions – grudgingly at times, I admit, but nevertheless he has never failed me. I would trust him with my life. I allow him his _private_ opinions in exchange for his unfailing loyalty.”

“And my loyalty?” Hephaestion cut in questioningly.

This Alexander had to consider, and he sighed deeply to stall his answer.

“Perhaps, at times, I take yours for granted. But not once in all our long years has it been utterly _un_ appreciated. That I can promise you.”

Disappointment flooded the general’s cheeks with a dark stain of red, and Alexander squeezed his shoulder tightly, perhaps in apology or perhaps to jolt him out of his reverie.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he murmured.

Grey eyes travelled up, over war scarred chest and weather beaten face until they found soulful eyes of brown and blue.

“I did not ask for an apology.”

“And I am not offering one,” Alexander quipped lightly. “I am merely pointing out how very unintentional my wrongs have been.”

The apology was saved for the eyes. No need for words; not when you were Alexander, a man with eyes that could command armies and strike fear into rebellious oppositions. His stare unique enough to crumble the foundations of a man, or so some said.

“It was my choice, Alexander,” Hephaestion reminded the king without explanation, reaching up a hand of his own to grip the king’s shoulder in return.

“There is always the chance to change your mind,” the blond offered, eyebrows rising.

“And if you thought it wholly advantageous you would have changed my mind for me long ago,” the dark haired man reminded him.

It had not truly been an offer, only a reminder of a life once led. In another life they may have chosen differently, or the gods would have granted them the opportunities their lives had denied them. But as it was they had chosen, and chosen well. They sealed their promise with an embrace tighter than they could recall of late. The campaign had stretched leagues between these two men and their home, but it seemed it had stretched miles between them, too.

“You are right,” Alexander agreed, his chin resting on Hephaestion’s collar bone.

Leaning back, he observed the lean, noble face of his old friend before capturing his lips in a chaste kiss; too short, and yet enough. And once broken away the king clarified. “For old times’ sake.”

Hephaestion, forgetting how easy it was to memorise his beloved fellow’s tanned face, returned the gesture, lips pressed together for less than a moment.

“For old times’ sake,” he repeated.

And so they parted, the king walking elegantly away, a distinct strut in his step that had not been present upon his entrance not yet an hour before.

“Health to you, Hephaestion son of Amyntor,” and pleased as he was he did not wait for a reply, exiting the general’s quarters without another word but for his farewell.

And Hephaestion son of Amyntor smiled gently, his anger forgotten as he bathed in the scent of old love that surrounded him.

“Health to you, King Alèxandros.”


End file.
